Place was a Pulitzer Prize-finalist in 2018. The committee called it, “A brave and powerful work, marked by effective vocal writing and multiple musical genres, that confronts issues of gentrification and displacement in Fort Greene, Brooklyn.” Hearne wrote the music and part of the libretto. He collaborated with poet Saul Williams who write the rest of the libretto.

The Los Angeles Philharmonic New Music Group is presenting Place on Tuesday evening at the Walt Disney Concert Hall. Hearne will be conducting the performance which is directed by Patricia McGregor. She was recently named the incoming Artistic Director at the New York Theater Workshop.

Last week I spoke via Zoom with Hearne about Place, how he’s reconciled his own ideas about the issues the work raises and how his composing allows him to understand himself better. What follows are excerpts from our conversation that have been edited for length and clarity.

You stated previously that you were confronted with your own feelings after hearing Spike Lee speak at the Pratt Institute about people and the relationship they have to their neighborhood. How did composing and writing Place impact your own perception of how you relate to your neighborhood? Has the time since the work debut altered your perceptions about that relationship, if it has?

One thing that changed is that I started to see the divisions that I created in my own life and my own sense of identity and my own self and how maybe I’ve created a proxy for thinking about those divisions. What I mean by that is that through this process, I started really looking at texts about whiteness and white identity and white supremacy and it got very personal in a way that I think it hadn’t before this process. And that’s a big way that my thinking changed. 

It was as blunt of an interrogation of the tenets of white supremacy and that systemic racism that were embedded in my own upbringing, in my own identity. That was totally not academic because all of my artistic work was right there front and center and that’s a big part of my heart and soul.

I think part of growing up in a place with so much systemic racism as a white person is often, at least in my house, in my generation, it is growing up with the idea that your perspective as a white person is like the neutral one. No one ever like told me, “Oh, that’s a better perspective” or that you’re better than anybody else explicitly. But also no one really told me that to be raised as a white person entailed kind of its own identity. So in a way being raised with this paucity of identity itself. I don’t think anyone should be raised that way. But this process was like a cartography process of mapping all the ways that white supremacy or racism was present just in all of my individual small interactions and the fundamental structures of family.

I’m happy to say that I think the conversation around all these issues has progressed a lot since when I started writing the piece. I’m not saying that any of this stuff was taught to me intentionally. But that’s, of course, the problem. This process really helps me connect all of these concepts which I’ve been wrestling with since basically coming of age in this culture so it makes sense.

Having come through this process how do you reconcile the dichotomy between the shining concert hall on the hill that is Walt Disney Concert Hall and the huge homeless community, mostly non-white, that are mere blocks away. Should that impact the way an audience experiences Place?

I hope it influences the way people see work like this. That dichotomy is all around us in this in this culture, right? In this society and this in this country, in the city. We’re living at a time of a large increase in the number of unhoused people in the city. And there’s a huge increase in aggressive, violent police action to remove unhoused people from the places that they’re dwelling.

Part of the process in writing this piece has been to think about displacement and the connections of displacement and systemic racism. Wrestling with inequalities that have been built into the systemic fabric of these institutions. I know that there are good people within these institutions that are trying to root out these inequalities and trying to create really safe spaces for all sorts of different types of people. But it’s not easy.

Including, I would assume, safe spaces for artists who aren’t just white to be recognized in the performing arts world as well.

Especially American music. There are these incredible innovators who just were never included in institutional music or classical music as we now call it. And I think that the reason that they weren’t included is because they’re not white. Duke Ellington being the most obvious example of a composer who was creating music that is symphonic and who’s pushing boundaries in so many different directions; creating this unique American work. I’m not saying that that necessarily affected Duke Ellington’s reputation, but I do think that when we say classical music we should acknowledge that it’s based on this history of exclusion.

When we think about the language that we use to talk about why certain artists are innovative or important we often romanticize it and leave out all of these very blunt and important sociological contexts: who had access to certain streams of money and who is a white man. These are actually very important parts of it. When we take all this together, we can see how the genre and institution of classical music has been sculpted.

During the pandemic you did an at-home version of Place that was streamed online. Did that prompt any reconsideration of the work that you had already completed or any reflection on what to do next?

I don’t feel like the piece was done until we did the version in March 2020 where we were all sheltering in place. We had already made the album and the album was about to come out. We had all the tracks from all the instrumental performances, from all these brilliant instrumentalists that we recorded across the country to make the piece. But then these singers, who were prepared and all ready to do the whole show, were stuck at home as we all were. So we decided to make this at home version.

The people in the cast, the singers, they all live very differently and they were all affected differently. It was more traumatic to some than others. Something about that, plus the fact that this is a piece about place and displacement. Through people just capturing themselves at their microphone, but capturing the whole environment, we were able to get a really personal picture into the lives of all the singers. I think that was the last key to understanding the piece. It gave us something that we didn’t get when we were doing a large stage version. It made the piece really intimate and we use that in the remount of the piece that we’re doing now in 2022. 

Saul Williams wrote in Said the Shotgun to the Head, “I have offered myself to the inkwell of the wordsmith that I might be shaped in terms of being.” Ted, what is offering yourself to the inkwell of composing allowing you to be?

I’m pretty impulsive. I make like really large works sometimes that take years to make. I feel like often it’s driven by things that I feel in a moment or things that I feel [in] a cumulative succession of moments that feel powerful. I tend to use that as an engine. And then look later at the thing I made.

It’s the learning that comes from the rigorous process of composing. It’s through the rigor of holding yourself to really high standards and making sure that the piece understands and respects itself. Setting those strictures up as clearly and as well-constructed as possible. I think that through that discipline I can come to a much clearer understanding of who I am and who I am in the world. Without composing I don’t know if I would have any motivation to do that. If I didn’t have that process, I think that I would be drawn to living in a way that had no impact. Through composing I can continually examine my impact. 

I am really interested in living in a way that helps other people be better. But I have to help myself be better. I know it’s very presumptuous to think you can help other people be better without really putting yourself through the paces continuously. So I think composing is just the whole apparatus for that. 

Place is produced by Beth Morrison Projects. To see when Place might be performed in your area, I suggest you go to BMP’s website here.

Main photo: Ted Hearne conducting Place (Photo courtesy Unison Media)

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So who are the sisters in law? The first female Supreme Court Justice, Sandra Day O’Connor (Stephanie Faracy) and current Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg (Tovah Feldshuh.) Shapiro based the play on the best-selling book by Linda Hirshman.

Being women and justices are about the only thing they have in common. O’Connor is a Republican; Ginsburg a Democrat. They are the first two women ever appointed to the Supreme Court and their appointments were made 12 years apart.

Feldshuh is best-known to theatergoers as the star of Golda’s Balcony. Faracy has a film and television career that goes back to 1976. She’s recently been seen on Sneaky Pete.

Directing Sisters in Law is Patricia McGregor who co-wrote and directed Lights Out: Nat “King” Cole seen at the Geffen Playhouse and directed What You Are  this summer at The Old Globe.

Given the drama that plays out every year on the Supreme Court and around the Supreme Court, this should be a fascinating play.

For tickets go here.

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Don (Jonathan Walker), a hard working husband and father, just manages to make ends meet. He works in an office where the things he’s used to being one way suddenly seem very different – from co-workers to the technology used to get the job done. There’s a lot of change in the country that challenges his essential core beliefs. A misunderstanding at work gets wildly out of hand and Don sets out to makes things as he feels they should be. But is that really what he should be doing?

Patricia McGregor, who co-wrote and directed Lights Out: Nat “King” Cole and directed Skeleton Crew at the Geffen Playhouse, directs. The cast features Adrian Anchondo, Jasmin Savoy Brown, Omozé Idehenre and Mike Sears.

Lee, in the program notes for What You Are, explains that his play is not a polemic piece of writing.

“Just because a work of art is political, that doesn’t mean it’s trying to convince you that a particular argument is correct or incorrect. The best political art dissects an issue, looks at it from all sides, and then leaves you with a lot of questions to wrestle with. Part of why I write the plays I do is that I’m really trying to understand something. So when we talk about art being political, I think that we have to step away from the idea that people are trying to convince us of something, and be open to the idea that we the artists may not know. We can explore together, which I feel like is more productive anyway.”

What You Are seems like a play that could be exactly what we need in this place and time in history. Something that inspires discussion, not argument, with the goal of understanding differing points of view.

There is a note on the website indicating this production contains strong language

All images courtesy of The Old Globe.

For tickets go here.

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If you attend Lights Out: Nat “King” Cole at the Geffen Playhouse you’ll see his work as co-writer of the show (with director Patricia McGregor). In other words, Domingo is a true multi-hyphenate with a lot on his mind and a wide range of skills.

Lights Out imagines what might have been going through singer Nat “King” Cole’s mind during his 1957 Christmas special. Dulé Hill (The West Wing and Suits) plays the singer. If you don’t know Cole by name, you probably know his many recordings and his silky smooth voice. Amongst his best known songs are Unforgettable, Mona Lisa and Nature Boy.

I recently spoke with Domingo about Lights Out, Cole and his battles with racism and where America is in 2019.

When I read the script for Lights Out it reminded of the real-versus-the surreal found in Bob Fosse’s All that Jazz. Is that kind of balancing act what you were going after?

I think All That Jazz, The Scottsboro Boys, Passing Strange are all influences because I’m trying to be a bit sly about deconstructing an icon, the United States, race, gay rights and women’s rights. It’s to use this framework of this final show and pulling the rug out.

How and why did you choose Nat “King” Cole?

Anything 1950s is seductive: line dresses and gentlemen in well-structured suits and slick hair. We want to surprise you. This definitely has been written with a fervor and fire and passion. The beautiful thing is this commission allowed me to do whatever was on my mind and this was it. This is one of those pieces of theatre that if I left the theatre tomorrow, this is everything I want to say. It takes a long time to clarify what is our voice. This is mine.

What makes Nat “King” Cole still relevant today and why should people who don’t know of him be interested?

I think because of where we are right now with so much unrest and interrogating exactly who we are. Which is why James Baldwin (author of If Beale Street Could Talk) was always the conscious of America and who we are. We are trying to examine who we are in America and we have to go backwards because we can’t go forward. By examining an America icon through the lens of 2019, hopefully we can come to some answers.

Though subjected to racism himself (including attacks on his home in Hancock Park), Cole performed for segregated audiences in the South. He was chastised in the mid-50s by the NAACP for not being a crusader. Was that fair and do you think he could have and should have done more?

It’s funny the term “crusader.” As I examined what he was doing, he was being a crusader in a more subversive way. I think there’s a necessity for people to be out there and marching in the street. And there are also people who should be standing with grace and love in the face of terror. Everything Cole represented knew it wouldn’t seem like he was crusader. Not everyone was barking loudly and holding signs. But he was showing his face. Some are sitting quietly doing their work and showing up day after day. I am a man and I stand up and put on a suit and sing better than anyone else. I think that was what he did. I think he was criticized unfairly.

Cole once said, “The Supreme Court is having a hard time integrant schools. What chance do I have to integrate audiences?”

Cole had a lot of incredible thoughts, but he understood. I think he was always looking at the bigger picture and not the immediate. I read an article for Ebony in 1958 about why his show wasn’t a success – because he couldn’t get sponsors. He said, “Madison Avenue is afraid of the dark.” He had one of the most successful records ever. But he had to call in favors and use his own money. But by his being there, he made a difference.

How far do you think we’ve come since Nat “King” Cole’s time?

Our country is so separated. We have to be smart. We’d like to think we live in a country of the free, but it’s only for a certain group of people. These days white and black alike should talk about this. Let’s do this. Let’s affect our friends, cousins and others who don’t think like us. We have to reach across and understand why you feel the way you feel and I feel the way I feel. If we approach more with love, there’s no idea where we can go. When I write what I’m actually trying to do is bring people together. We raise the question. Now what will you do? It’s your turn.

What do you think Nat “King” Cole would think of American in 2019? (Domingo takes a long pause before answering the question.)

I don’t know. I think that he would recognize how far we’ve come by looking at the great representations of our ancestors and everyone who is benefitting and overcoming great obstacles. But I think he would also recognize how far we had not come. I think he’d be torn. He was very astute about recognizing what he was and what America was.

Lights Out: Nat “King” Cole continues at the Geffen Playhouse through March 17th.

Production photos by Jeff Lorch/Courtesy of the Geffen Playhouse

Nat “King” Cole photo by Avery Willard/Courtesy of the New York Public Library

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Domingo, along with Patricia McGregor (who also directs), has structured a unique way of looking not just at the man behind such classic recordings as “Mona Lisa” and “Unforgettable,” but the racism he faced during his lifetime – both professionally and personally.

Lights Out: Nat “King” Cole at the Geffen Playhouse stars as Cole is Dulé Hill (The West Wing, Suits). Hill, and co-star Daniel J. Watts (Sammy Davis, Jr.) who have been with the show since its world premiere in 2017 at People’s Light & Theatre in Malvern, Pennsylvania.

The show imagines what might have been going through Cole’s mind as he was doing his final Christmas show in front of a live audience. Special guests weave their way in and out of the play including Betty Hutton and Peggy Lee (Ruby Lewis playing both), Billy Preston (Connor Amacio Matthews) and Eartha Kitt (Gisela Adisa). But it’s the systemic racism Cole faces that is, perhaps, the most prevalent and disturbing character.

It’s an audacious way of telling a story and certainly not going to be just a retread of Cole’s most notable songs with fluff brought in to get from one song to another. Think more All That Jazz than Escape to Margaritaville (of course if that’s more your style, the Jimmy Buffett musical will be at the Dolby Theatre in 2020.)

The show runs 90 minutes with no intermission.

Go here to read our interview with Colman Domingo about Lights Out: Nat “King” Cole.

Update:  This post has been revised to correct the name of the actor playing Billy Preston.  It is Connor Amacio Matthews, not Conor.

Production photo by Jeff Lorch/Courtesy of the Geffen Playhouse

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Starring in this production are Amari Cheatom, Caroline Stefanie Clay, Kelly McCreary and DB Woodside. The production is directed by Patricia McGregor.

Skeleton Crew is the third play in Morisseau’s Detroit Project. The first two plays are Detroit ’67 and Paradise Blue. Skeleton Crew had its first full production at New York’s Atlantic Theatre Company in 2016. The play was highly-acclaimed and Morisseau won the Edgerton Foundation New Play Award in 2015.

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